


Vow of Ghosts and Women

by lavender_malfoy_minus_the_tea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is So Done, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, F/M, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger is So Done, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy, Sad, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_malfoy_minus_the_tea/pseuds/lavender_malfoy_minus_the_tea
Summary: After the war, Draco and his mother were stripped of their wands and banished from the magical community. Nine years later, Draco is living in Paris having escaped the shame and guilt of his actions, but even the streets of Paris are littered with ghosts of his past. Draco has made a vow to stay away from women for 10 years but what happens when a certain Miss Granger re-enters his life and he realises that he isn't the only one still being haunted by the war which most of the magical community has been determined put behind them.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Familiar Faces

The metro doors opened, and a mass of people flooded in. Draco held _La Parisien_ in his hands and hadn't even bothered to lift his look. He heard heels clack against the floor, and felt a purse brush against his arm as someone sat beside him, but his eyes were still fixed on the article about the upcoming presidential election. Only when he heard a high pitched "Bonjour, Monsieur" which he was certain was intended for him, did he lift his look. Next to him sat a very attractive girl in her early 20s. (If he hadn't been quite certain she was a muggle, he would have assumed her to be at least part Veela.) He put on his signature smirk, and she didn't wait for him to reply as she continued in French: "The weather is incredible. I can almost feel summer coming already. Wouldn't you agree, Monsieur?"

It took him a moment to find his words to answer, as he was still taking her in: her perfectly curled strawberry blonde hair, her starlight blue eyes, and a smile he might have described as perfect. A few years ago he would have stopped at nothing to catch such a price, alas… Even still, such a pretty sight was caramel to his eyes. "Indeed, Madame."

His voice seemed to only widen her smile. "Adèle Cordes." 

He set the paper on his lap to shake her hand. "Draco Malfoy."

If possible, her smile widened more, and more unnervingly white teeth came to view. (Maybe she was a Veela after all.) "An Englishman," she said in English with a heavy accent that reminded him of Beauxbatons' students from his fourth year. At the thought of school, and consecutively magic, his mood grew sullen but he didn't lower his grin. She then continued in French, apparently having exhausted her English skills, "I would have never guessed from your accent. What has brought you to Paris, Monsieur Malfoy? Work? Family? Perhaps a woman?"

More like shame. And guilt. And envy. And fucking rage that ensued from knowing how close the magical world he was supposed to flourish in was. And the pity in his friends faces. And the sadness in his mother’s. "What reason does a man need to live in the greatest city in the world. And my family has always flourished here." He wanted to cringe at the bullshit about the greatest city in the world but it did seem to work on the girl.

"Oh, you flatter us. But tell me, have you ever tried this…" The girl went on about some café as Draco lost his focus on her words. His eyes were fixed behind her, as he was certain he had seen his father standing there. It happened to him weekly, if not daily. He thought he saw a soul lost to the war, in one way or another, haunting him in the streets and everywhere he went.

Words came with much stronger intonation than the girl had produced earlier and his attention was pulled back. "Monsieur Malfoy!" He was reminded of Professor McGonagall, and he damned his goddamn ghosts to stay tucked neatly inside. "Are you alright? Did you hear what I said?" Her words were softer again, the same high and girly pitch returned to her voice.

Draco managed to drag his smirk back on, even though it became harder to wear by the minute. "Yes, sorry. No, I've never been to the place but it sounds lovely."

"Well, then, what would you say if I introduced you to it someday, perhaps later this week?"

It was clear what the girl wanted, so he did the first thing that came to his mind to get her to back off. He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry, Adèle, but I'm gay."

The girl looked disappointed, but no embarrassment crept on her face. "Oh, well, then…” Her eyes glanced at his clothes and then back up. Her eyes had filled with recognition as if everything made sense now. Draco wanted to roll his eyes; If anyone, the French should know that dressing well does not make you gay.

Luckily, Draco's stop came just then, and he interrupted her as he stood, remembering to take both his suitcase and the paper with him. "I'm sorry, Madame, but I must get off now. It was lovely talking to you, and have a lovely day."

He didn't stay to hear her response but turned abruptly and strode ahead.

On some days, he indeed wished he was gay. It might make things easier; He had gotten to enough trouble due to attraction to girls. But yes, he very much still was attracted to women. And even though the thought of fucking the girl from the train in the toilet of some cafe sounded very pleasant, it simply wasn't worth the consequences. Which is precisely why he wasn't about to break his vow to stay away from women, or woman-free as he called it. (Vow which his mother thought pointless, and that had had Blaise rolling on the sofa laughing. Not that either of them might understand.)

Just then, something which struck in his line of sight halted his steps. The cover of a British muggle paper _The Times_ faced him from a kiosk, and on the cover of it was painted the smiling face of the one and only Hermione bloody Granger.


	2. Kisses in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I absolutely blacked out on the fact that I published this for like two weeks. When I finally realised I had published this in a tired haze, I was in the middle of writing a short story which was on a deadline for a course. So, now here we are. At 4.30 in the morning as I'm pulling an all nighter. But ain't that what being a student is like? If you wanna have something done outside of school you need to do it at ungodly hours. I actually really liked working on this chapter, and due to to the Monster I just drank I am actually on this planet. I thank everyone who has actually read my questionable first chapter. I promise to try to get the third chapter out faster, but I am a human being (if a student is even that) with a lot on my plate right now.

Who gave a faintest fuck why Granger was on the cover of some muggle magazine? Draco certainly didn’t, which is exactly why without a second thought, he simply strutted away into the busy Paris streets. Of course, it wasn’t enough that the trio’s faces littered the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , she had to get on the muggle papers as well. He wouldn’t be surprised if next week, he would see Potter's face on the bloody _La Parisien_. Still, her face was just another ghost from the past. Another pair of eyes to push away.

In regards to the _La Parisien_ , he threw the newspaper he was carrying to the next rubbish bin he came across. He left the station and crossed the street. In a minute, he had disappeared within the unnoticed alleys and _rues_. Without a proper destination in mind, he found himself in one of his favourite Parisian cafés. A little café tucked away from the main streets. Quiet, but never empty.

He stepped inside and the smell of fresh pastries and freshly brewed coffee met him. He adored that smell. Simple, but there was something meaningful behind it. "Café latte et pain au chocolat," left his lips more from memory than decision.

Before him stood a boy far from the unearthly beauty he met on the train. Someone grounded. Someone many would mistake for plain in their hurry. But Draco had nowhere to go and was taking every second as it came. "Et bonjour." He let out a small chuckle, a true one, and the boy smiled softly.

His every feature was soft, painted with such dedication, such precision. His eyes were brown and Draco couldn't place his features, which made him sure of a very mixed heritage. The boy answered his 'Bonjour' and began to make his coffee even before charging him. There was no line, no hurry.

Draco spoke with intrigue, and rather than his forced smirk, he carried a flirtatious one: "I don't think I have seen you here before. Are you new?"

He could see a faint smile on the boy's lips as the coffee machine rumbled. "Yes, I started yesterday. Only arrived in Paris last week."

"Well, then, there is so much for you to see. So much new ye to experienced."

The boy laid the coffee before him and proceeded to get him his pastry. He chuckled, again with the same softness, before he spoke: "Yes, alas I know no one in the city, and I'm not really familiar to exploring places on my own."

"Shame that we've only just met. I know the city like my own."

* * * * *

They had barely stepped through the door, but they were already on each other. At each other. Two magnets kept apart and now let go. Draco kissed the boy, Aurèle, with almost fever-like eagerness. Every kiss was connected to the next one, a continuation of passion.

As they tore off their shoes and threw away their jackets, Aurèle chuckled in the darkness. Draco kept himself from cursing at the softness of his every movement. It was why he couldn’t stop calling him _the boy_ in his mind. He had an angelic quality to him. It wasn’t in his beauty or his voice. It was in his inherent softness. Something he wouldn’t have thought could be found in the muggle world. Almost a magic of its own kind.

Their lips found each other again and even though the boy’s kisses were soft and cautious, Draco didn’t fear to press against him, to shove harder than the boy would have. He pushed the boy to the wall beside them and began to kiss down his jawline, down his neck, as he unbuttoned his shirt. He heard him let out a gentle moan and the smile that took place on his face stole away a few of his kisses.

It was in these moments when Draco could forget the world he had left behind. The taste of coffee on someone else’s tongue. The small breaths stolen in between. The ghosts of war lost behind kisses. The feel of someone else’s touch.

The boy’s fingers trembled as they tried to unbutton his shirt, but Draco didn’t help. He lost himself in his features. His eyes, so full of innocence, too unfamiliar to Draco. His lips turned into a smile that was trying to hide itself.

When the boy finally pulled away, Draco didn’t wait a moment as he stole his lips. The boy’s hands found his hair as he pulled him closer, deeper into his midst. Draco didn’t know how they managed to stumble to the bed without falling on the way, but now he pushed him against pillows trying to find every last, yet unfound, part of his mouth. He could feel the boy smile against his kisses. As he nipped on Draco’s lower lip, it took him by such surprise he pumped his nose on to the boy’s as he let out a moan. _Fuck._

* * * * *

Draco woke up early with the morning light barely shining through the windows. His nose was hardly inches from Aurèle’s and it took him a moment to decide to back further away into the bed rather than wake him up with a kiss. The boy’s features were, if possible, even softer as he slept. Even though last night had very much proved he wasn’t quite as innocent as he seemed at the first glance, now he looked just that. Nearly angelic. His brown curls fell on his face, covering partly his left eye. Every muscle on his body was relaxed. As he slept, he was unnervingly still, only his faint breath going in and out through his nose slowly moved his body with a rhythm. 

Draco studied him for a moment which might have been five minutes or half an hour. When he finally decided to get up, it was with reluctance. He wished he could have stayed. Kept his eyes on his as he slept. Maybe dozed off himself. They would have woken up together. Shared morning kisses. He might have taken him again. The boy would have brewed him coffee. They would have gotten to know each other deeper. He would have shown him Paris. They would have walked through museums, stolen kisses in the corners. They would have returned here, shared more kisses in the dark, more passion. He would have taken the boy to his place, played him piano.

But that wasn’t his life. He wasn’t fit to be a boyfriend. To walk with someone through weeks and months and years. He was someone who left in the morning. No matter how much it hurt him. How he could imagine the boy waking up feeling the bed for him. Looking through the house because maybe he was in the toilet or brewing coffee. Until he would finally notice the disappeared clothes and the missing shoes. He would curse for not having asked for a phone number. He would damn Draco for leaving. He would drink his coffee alone thinking about the kisses they shared in the dark. Maybe he would find someone else. Maybe someone else would walk into the coffee shop and show him Paris. Draco hoped.

Without another glance, Draco opened the door and left the flat. This had been a fucking stupid choice; He would now have to find another coffee shop.


	3. Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who am I?! I thought It would take me at least half a month until I would get myself to write the third chapter, but NO. I wrote it on the same bloody day (as the 2nd)! I don't even know what to say at this point. I still haven't slept in like 34 hours, so we shall hope that I haven't written utter gibberish.

Draco leant against the closed door with a sigh as he eyed the opening to his flat. It was in its essence so vastly different from that of Aurèle’s. The boy’s flat had been tightly packed with barely any furniture. Books lied on the floor and the kitchen could be barely called that. Draco’s flat, on the other hand, was not bought with a modest budget. There was much room for empty space, and plants gave colour in contrasts to the white walls. In the early day, you needed no artificial light as the windows stole almost all the room on the wall opposite him.

Draco didn’t bother to take off his jacket or shoes, as he strolled through the flat to the balcony. He drew the cigarette case from his pocket and lit one with shaky hands. He closed his eyes as he leant against the railing. With every breath out he tried to breathe away more memories. Yesterday's kisses. Ghosts from a decade ago.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. He tried to savour the last of the cigarette before dumping it in the ashtray.

He threw his jacket on the sofa but didn’t bother removing his shoes. Yesterday’s clothes felt used but so did everything at the moment. He walked to the kitchen and took the first bottle of red wine that his hand touched. Opened the bottle and poured. Without a second thought, he drowned the glass of wine.

Sometimes the flat felt like a refuge, something of his own, something that had his fingerprints on it. At other times it felt like it was drowning him. Everything felt wrong, everything felt distant. Except for the piano. That piano had always felt right. Always felt familiar but not something forced upon him. It was his mother who taught him to play. At times, his father felt it to be a waste of time. An instrument for women.

Now he sat by it. His fingers lay on the keys. His feet on the pedals. For a long while, he sat by the piano, not playing, merely remembering. Submerged in one of the few places worth to be lost in. And when he finally began to play, it sounded more like a memory than an actual melody. His fingers followed a phantom of his mothers rather than notes written on a paper.

He didn’t know how long he had played when he finally came to a halt. The notes had simply come to their end. There was nothing more to trace.

He knew he would suffocate if he stayed locked behind these four walls today, but when he finally managed to step on the lift, walk out of the front door, it was already dark outside. He had new clothes, although reminiscent of the ones he had worn in the morning, and his hair was damp from taking a shower. He had no idea where he was heading, but he knew that his steps would know where to lead. 

* * * * *

Draco sat in the corner of a bar with an ale in his hand. (Its name was lost in the sea of so many similar.) It was close enough to the main streets to gather tourists but far enough to not be crowded. The music which was played was good enough, and he could hear that the girl who sang had true talent. He wouldn’t be surprised if a producer would steal her away from these darkened corners sooner rather than later. But through the night, the music, the singing had turned into background noise, which was more a dream than a constant presence.

There wasn’t much that kept him there any longer. His drink neared its end, and his fingers already graved another cigarette. He had spoken to a handsome German for a while before his friends had arrived, but that was already a drink ago.

Now he threw back the remainder of his ale and disappeared through the shadows to the front door. Already before he had stepped through the door, his fingers searched his pockets for his cigarette case and a lighter. A step into the cool air and the cigarette was between his teeth and his fingers trying to make the lighter work in the night.

But of course, his eyes had been on his fingers and not the street before him as he bumped into someone with his second step. His lighter left his hands and he heard the sharp click as it hit the ground. “Fuck.” 

The person Draco had bumped into seemed to be faster at reacting to pick up his lighter. (Well, at least compared to his drunken reflexes.) He was mumbling something about an apology and a thank you in French but everything left his mouth in fragments of thoughts.

He only saw the girl’s hands as he reached out to take the lighter, but his hand stopped in its path. Instead, as she said, “Here you go,” in English, and his eyes were pulled to her face, he let go of his cigarette as well. Draco didn’t even manage to utter out a curse as he stepped back in surprise. The girl before him on the other hand didn’t appear to lose the usage of her vocal cords and muttered out, “Shit.” He might have not seen her face in nearly nine years, but it wouldn’t take longer than a second for him to recognise her. The same curls, the same brown eyes, the same distinct nose. Granger might have been older, but she hadn’t really changed that much.

In a rather automatic movement, his hands took another cigarette from the case and placed it between his teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?”

For a second it looked as if Granger wasn’t about to answer, but she returned him in a surprisingly aggressive tone, “What does it look like? I’m at a bar.”

As he realised his lighter was still in her hands, he held out his hand, while he said, “Well, it’s not exactly a setting I would place you in. And technically, you’re in front of a bar. Now, would you give me my lighter?”

She didn’t look half pleased with his reply but handed him the lighter nonetheless. Finally, he lit his cigarette and drew in a deep breath. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them made any sign to leave either. What ended the silence between them were Granger words, “Could you give me one as well?”

After a moment of shock, Draco pulled out the case from his pocket and handed her a cigarette. In a gesture that felt too familiar, he leant in and lit it. As he took his own between his fingers, he couldn’t help but to laugh.

She gave him a sharp look, and there was no confusion in her eyes. “Shut up.”

It only made Draco crack up more and now he began to gather looks from the passerby. He tried to smother the laughter with a cigarette, and after taking it back between his fingers, he coughed a sorry. “This just isn’t a scene I had ever imagined witnessing.”

Hermione repeated, now with a hint of humour in her voice, “Shut up.”

“Oh, you know that I won’t. But really, what are you doing here?”

“Is it now illegal for me to go on a holiday? I can assure you, I’m not just all work and no play.”

“Okay.”

“Okay...”

More silence followed. To a passerby, it might have not seemed such a strange image: Just two people smoking by a bar. Accompanied by silence that comes when you either know someone very well or do not know them at all. The calm one and the awkward one. But this was neither. The silence was energetic, lightening. It was powered by all that might be said, all that which the other prepared to hear from the other; all that which the other prepared to give back to the other.

But the energy balanced itself out. It found another exit. There was no lightning. No explosion. Not at this moment.

Rather, Draco asked, “Are you seeing someone here?”

Beside him, Granger chuckled, but there was little humour in it. “I was supposed to. But _he_ left for Italy this morning. So, addio company. Addio a place to stay.”

Draco dropped what remained of his cigarette on the ground. That could have been the end of it. A coincidental encounter. An odd shared cigarette in a darkened Paris alley. Draco could have left. He could have said something sarcastic and left Granger to her own devices. He could have walked back to his apartment that was just a little wrong.

But that wasn’t who he was at that moment. He was a little drunk, incredibly tired of being lonely, and so done with running away from everything.

So, instead, he said, “I’m on my way to get a midnight snack. I know a place that is still open. Perhaps, if you would want a proper Parisian experience, you could come with. What do you say, only for tonight, we have no history? For once, just do something you will absolutely regret in the morning.”

A part of him regretted his words the moment he said them. But so late in the night that voice was distant and could easily be ignored. Because loneliness goes beyond hatred and prejudice and pride. Loneliness strips you bare, so you will have nothing to lose.

And somehow, beyond all reason, slowly Granger nodded. Then shook her head in a very violent manner, which made Draco think she had changed her mind after all. But a moment later, she took a few steps ahead and said, “Aren’t you supposed to lead the way?”


End file.
